


And never Seraph spread a pinion

by dante_alicheery



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Tumblr Prompt, cassandra finally gets a hug, mentions of canon ships, takes place during the 1yr time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 20:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10647027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dante_alicheery/pseuds/dante_alicheery
Summary: On the anniversary of the Brairwoods' attack on Whitestone, Percy finds his sister in the temple of the Raven Queen.





	And never Seraph spread a pinion

Percy finds her in the Raven Queen’s temple, her dark hair down from the chignon she’s started to favor to look more grown up. The one that makes her look more like their mother. But with it down, its white streaks are even more evident, even in the low light. He approaches, quietly, but isn’t surprised that she notices him before he reaches her; she always had been the observant one. 

“If the Council needs me, tell them—”

“Whatever they need, I’m sure Vex can handle it,” he replies softly as he comes up to stand beside her. 

Her eyes are trained on the alter before them. It’s a makeshift sort of thing compared to the ancient marble in the temple of Erathis, or the burnished gold of the temple of Pelor. A simple wooden table with a purple alter cloth. There are raven feathers scattered across it, and one lone candle burns before the onyx effigy of the Lady herself. It’s simple, but Vax has consecrated this place in his Goddess’ name, so even Percy can feel the sacredness of this place.

They’re quiet for a long moment. Cassandra hefts the half-full bottle of Courage in her hand, takes a drink, and hands it to her brother. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Yes,” he replies as he accepts it. He looks over at his sister, her hollow-eyed stare trained on the candle flame. He takes a swig, feels the alcohol burn down his throat, and hands the bottle back.

“Never a day went by that I ever forgot, but every year, they always made such a… production out of the day ‘they took custody of Whitestone.’ Threw a feast for every thrice-damned blackguard that helped them…” she grimaces, closes her eyes and looks away. Holds in a sob until it passes. “I was always required to attend.”

“Cassandra.”

“They made such a… farce out of it all. Wine from our family’s cellar flowing like tears, our parent’s murderer’s joking and laughing like---” she cuts herself off. “And year after year I sat there, and year after year I let the night go by without taking the carving knife and leaping for Delilah’s throat.”

“Cassandra.” He puts an awkward hand on her shoulder. Touch was never something they did, as a family. Father would never do anything as emotive as hugging, and even their mother didn’t do more than pats of affection once they were old enough to hand off to a governess. And strong emotions were something, they were taught, a noble of their standing could ill afford to have. “I’m so sorry I—”

“Don’t.” She whips around towards him, her blue eyes—darker than his—shining with tears. “Don’t you dare apologize again, alright? There’s nothing you could have done, there’s nothing any of us could have done and—”

Damn the de Rolo iciness. Damn holding the people you love at arm’s length and damn not showing the breadth of your affection and support and love to them. 

With slow, deliberate movements, Percy steps in and enfolds his sister in his arms, just as the tears win and Cassandra lets go of the sob that had been shaking her chest, and then it’s like his body knows exactly what to do. One hand goes to her hair carding through her thick locks, the other steadies her at the small of her back. He doesn’t say anything, not when her tears start soaking through his jacket, not when the sounds of her weeping echo through the small chamber. Not until her sobs become so violent she has trouble breathing, and her whole thin frame shakes with the force of them.

“Cassandra,” he murmurs, feeling tears burn in his own eyes, and he pries her a little way off of his shoulder, and shakes her, but she keeps sobbing and panic ticks in him that she’s going to sob herself to exhaustion or worse. “Cassandra,” he says sharply, and it’s enough for her stop momentarily. 

“Look at me, Cassandra.” She looks up at him, startled. “Just breathe. I know you know how.”

She somehow manages to chuckle darkly in between sobs, but she breathes when he takes an exaggerated breath, and together they breathe, matching each other breath for breath, letting the incense rich air of the temple fill their lungs until Cassandra’s shaking eases and she can inhale on her own.

She swipes at her tears with her dress sleeve. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“Shouldn’t have what?”

“Let myself get carried away like that.”

“Carried away?” He repeats, incredulous. “Our parents, our entire family died Cassandra, seven years ago tonight.” Pelor, has it really been that long? “Murdered in their own home by some bitch and her corpse of a husband. The same woman who kept you prisoner in that same home for years. I think if anyone deserves to cry tonight, sister, it’s you.” He pauses, rubs her shoulder a bit awkwardly when she won’t look at him. “It is alright to cry, you know.

“I’m supposed to be better than this, I’m the blighted Lady of Whitestone now, I can’t…”

“We’re not carved of the bloody stone, no matter what the legends say. You’re going to have emotions.” He breathes in, as if to say a bit more, but the words fail him, so he brings her in for another hug, resting his chin on his shoulder and he says only, “I love you, you know.”

She looks up at him, eyes watery, and she manages a weak smile. “How much of the Courage did you have brother.”

“Just a few shots’ worth,” he replies primly. He lets her pull away. “And make all the jokes you like, sister dear, but I do love you. And it pains me every day to think of what I left you here with, what you had to suffer all alone—” Cassandra goes to interrupt him, but he continues over her, “We don’t have to talk about it now. We don’t ever have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. But you did survive. And you’re all the stronger for it. Not mere stone, but residuum.” He pauses. “Father and Mother would be proud of the woman you’ve become. Hells, even Oliver wouldn’t have any way to poke fun at you now.”

“I think you severely underestimate our brother.”

“The point being, that they would all be proud of you, Cassandra. From whatever afterlife the Raven Queen brought them to, they’re watching, and beaming with it. Youngest and brightest of us all. Surviving vampires, protecting their home from dragons, leading a resurrected Whitestone into the future. And I am proud of you, Cassandra. Very proud.” He pauses. “But you know you don’t have to bear that load alone.”

She wipes the rest of the tears away, smiles wryly, eager to change the subject. “I thought I was sharing the load. I thought you were planning on sticking around a while. Finally putting in your hours as a de Rolo of Whitestone?” 

“Oh no. Heavens, no. That’s why I married Vex, so she’d do all that boring work for me.” 

Cassandra shoves his shoulder, but there’s already the smallest hint of a smile on her face. “Pelor’s breath, brother you’re the worst. I don’t know what she sees in you.”

“Me either,” he admits. “And I may be the worst, but you still love me.”

“I have to. I’m contractually obligated.”

“Ah, well. I know all about contracts. I might be able to get you out of it.”

She snorts, pauses for a long moment as she looks over at the single dark candle, then sighs. While she’s stood there, the flame has burned its way down the taper, leaving it a stub, the flame guttering in the darkness. 

Finally, before the light gutters out completely, she says, “For what it’s worth, I think they’d be proud of you too.”

“I’ve killed several dragons,” he shoots back without missing a beat. “They’d better be.”

And in the darkness, with the last light in the room turning blue and dying, Cassandra laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from The Haunted Palace by Edgar Allen Poe, which always reminds me a little of Whitestone after the Brairwoods.


End file.
